


The Tale of the Queen's Revenge

by storyspinner70



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, spn au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 12:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5869519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyspinner70/pseuds/storyspinner70
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone has stormy seas to contend with from time to time. Some have more than others. When you're a pirate, you get used to the storms. But every once in a while, a problem comes along you're not expecting, and sometimes, the only way to deal with those problems is head on. That being said, of course, sometimes the best way to handle your problems is to simply shoot them in the face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tale of the Queen's Revenge

**Art Title:** THE TALE OF THE QUEEN'S REVENGE  
**Prompt Number:** S2051  
**Artist:** burningwicker

 **Fic Title:** THE TALE OF THE QUEEN'S REVENGE  
**Author:** storyspinner70

 **Fandom/Genre:** SPN AU  
**Pairing(s):** Dean/Sam with glimmers of Dean/Cas and Sam/Cas  
**Rating:** PG 13 for some violence and language  
**Word Count:** 10,000+

 **Warnings:** Some violence and mentions of gore, not overly explicit

 **Summary:** Everyone has stormy seas to contend with from time to time. Some have more than others. When you're a pirate, you get used to the storms. But every once in a while, a problem comes along you're not expecting, and sometimes, the only way to deal with those problems is head on. That being said, of course, sometimes the best way to handle your problems is to simply shoot them in the face.

 **Art Link(s):** [LJ](LINK) | [tumblr](LINK)

 

**The Tale of the Queen's Revenge**

 

 

It was never Dean's fault. Okay fine, sometimes it was. This time, though? It really wasn't Dean's fault. Not all of it anyway.

Sam and Dean took to the high seas like - well, like fish to water. It started off like any other story - boys just trying to make a living. Throw in some criminals, more than a few assholes, some starving, and a little kidnapping, and what do you have? Dean and Sam taking over the ship that sought to enslave them. That was a fun night. There were spots on the deck that, to this very day, still shone with old blood in the moonlight.

God knows Sam had bitched enough about finding a more suitable vessel, but Dean, swaggering, cocky Dean, wouldn't hear of it. It was important they keep this ship - a kind of a slap in the face to the ones who'd tried them and a warning to those that thought about trying them in the future. Dean even went so far as to simply cross out the old name of the ship with some paint and rebrand the ship as their own - The Idgit - an homage to one of the few people the boys actually missed once they were gone.

Sam got it. He did. But every time he bumped his head on a doorway or got splinters in his ass (or worse) when Dean decided to fuck him up against some part or another of the ship, he vowed to keep on bitching.

Eventually, Dean kidnapped a ship builder in a last ditch effort to shut Sam up. Kevin Tran had the misfortune of having the best reputation of any ship builder for hundreds of miles. He was a nice kid. A good kid. A lot of "decent people" shunned Kevin because he was obviously foreign, even though his English was flawless and he'd been born right here, not in his mother's home of Hong Kong. All people could see was the color of his skin and a face that didn't look quite like theirs.

But, pirates tend more toward "big picture" thinking and the big picture was simple: Kevin was a genius with wood and sailcloth. And considering his mother had been on her way to the grandness of the Still Fairly New World - otherwise known as America - otherwise known as anywhere except for China - when pirates had waylaid the ship she was busy being miserable on, Kevin figured they kind of owed him. A pretty decent living would go a long way to making up for his less than grand beginning.

Dean pretended to be looking for a new boat and asked a series of intricate questions. Kevin answered them all perfectly. Dean proceeded to knock him out, carry him back to the ship, and present him to Sam as the solution to all his problems. Sam had simply stared a couple times in turn between the heap of boy at his feet and Dean's satisfied smirk before busting out bitchface #5 and storming below decks. Dean's smirk dropped and he threw up his hands in defeat. Why did Sam always have to be so fussy anyway?

The crew, well versed by now in what NOT to do during the captains' loud and sometimes violent arguments, scrambled to the far side of the ship and looked very very busy.

Dean stomped downstairs and went directly to the galley. Fuck. Sam was there. He could always tell how mad Sam was by where he flounced off to. If he was a little pissed, he'd be in their room. That required some touching, a kiss or two, or at the worst an apology they both knew he probably didn't completely mean to make things right.

If Sam was flat out mad, he'd probably be in the crow's nest – trying to find a little bit of the privacy that was in seriously short supply when you spend all the days of your life aboard a working ship. These fits would require greater finesse on Dean's part to work out, but they almost never went to bed angry – mostly because life was too short to go without just because one of the brothers temporarily lost their damn mind.

Those kinds of mad Dean could handle without a problem. But those times Sam was REALLY mad...Well, that was a whole different matter. For these times, Sam would inevitably go to the galley. He'd head for the kegs of spirits and fume. The longer it took Dean to get there, the worse it would be.

Closing his eyes and steeling himself for the battle to come, Dean took a deep breath and entered the galley. Sam was standing with his back to Dean and a cup in his hand. He turned to face Dean when he heard the door open.

Sam being mad at Dean wasn't a strange occurrence. Sam yelling at Dean wasn't a strange occurrence. Sam throwing things at Dean wasn't a strange occurrence. Sam staring silently at Dean with a quiet kind of defeat on his face was.

"Sammy?"

"We're pirates."

Dean got it. It was hard for Sam sometimes – the things they did, the people they were. "We needed him."

"Right."

"People were shitty to him anyway, Sam. He'll do better here. Trust me."

Sam turned away from him, reaching for more rum. "Sure Dean."

Dean should have been relieved - fight averted and new ship builder on board. It should have been a good day. Dean threw one last worried glance toward Sam's back then headed back up on deck. He couldn't seem to shake the feeling though that, somehow, this was one fight he'd lost.

 

Sam was of the opinion that they only take on other ships when they needed to. Dean, well, Dean was of a differing opinion. He took the Jolly Roger flying above the sails very seriously, and it bothered him sometimes that his brother didn't. Sure, he would have loved for their life to be different, but it wasn't.

They were raised without a mother by a father that did what he had to to get by. John was wrapped in grief so tightly there wasn't much room left for the finer things in life. Or for the boys, really. Oh, they had no doubt that their father loved them. No doubt about that at all. There had also never been any doubt as to what drove their father - finding the pirate that killed their mother. John had found him. And John had killed him. But, like the boys always suspected, his lifelong quest hadn't just spelled the end of the dread pirate Eli Boggs**. It had killed their father, as well.

After the brutal murder of the man they considered their second father a couple years later, the parts merchant Bobby Singer, the boys had no one left to turn to and no real place they felt like calling home. The call of the sea and amazing fruitful new worlds led them to many adventures - and to the complete destruction of the life they knew. They were good boys. Their daddy raised them - the best he could anyway - to do what was right. And, if you had to do something not so right to end up dong the right thing, then so be it.

There were things in this world you couldn't always control. Sam knew this. Dean chose to ignore that and figured if he could get near it, he could control anything he wanted - including the pirate trade. Dean was rather more matter of fact about killing than Sam was. Oh, he never killed anyone that didn't start a fight and fight back, but he wasn't so quick to let people involved in their skirmishes just swim away to safety, either.

If it were up to Sam, they'd just show everyone their very impressive weapons, make some mean faces and yell a lot, take all the people's stuff then let them go on their way. When Dean had mocked him for this idea, Sam had simply replied, while nonchalantly studying his nails, "Funny, I figured as the Prettiest Pirate to Ever Prance into Port Royal, you'd be able to do whatever you wanted."

The swabbies who had been nearby fled immediately. Everyone remembered when Dean had read that particular headline in a months old newspaper he came across in Tortuga one fateful day.

There was no doubt the Winchesters were impressive specimens of man. Taller than most, broader than most and more handsome than most, they knew what they looked like and had no qualms about using it to their advantage. Sam was head and shoulders taller than most, with long dark hair, gorgeous hazel eyes and a beautiful face and body. Dean on the other hand – ah Dean. He was shorter than Sam by a little less than half a foot, had sandy blonde hair and one of the most beautiful faces many people had ever seen.

When Sam lost an eye in one of their tougher battles and had to wear an eyepatch from then on, Dean had mocked him mercilessly for months. Sam knew though it was to cover his sorrow and rage that his Sammy had been hurt in the first place, so he let it slide. Mostly. As each raid came and went, the boys collected more booty – and more scars. Far from dimming their appeal, it actually increased it.

The boys were muscular, commanding and dangerous. Often, someone particularly foolhardy would erroneously think that regardless of the lore spread around about the viciousness of the Winchester's assaults, it was okay to share with them just how "beautiful" they thought the boys were. Depending on the boys' mood, that would end with varying degrees of damage – sometimes property and sometimes not.

Thankfully, Port Royal had been far, far from their current planned route at that time and, once they actually made it back there, Dean had forgotten all about the slight to his obviously butch manhood. Sam, however, held onto that little nugget like the treasure it was until just the right moment. Grinning, he strode away from a sputtering Dean and went looking for the missing cowardly mates.

They continued like this for years. As they got older, their reputations got grander and scarier. Part of it was the immense damage they could inflict without actually taking much damage of their own. Another part of it was the carefully selected survivors they left alive to spread ever increasingly dramatic stories of them from land to land. And, another part of that reputation, more than likely, was their propensity to forget where they were and who was around when the vicious satisfaction of triumph morphed into a vicious need for another kind of satisfaction.

Sam and Dean both had numerous affairs with women, and were not shy about broadcasting this fact in any port they docked in for more than a few minutes - actually, that was pretty much just Dean, but that was neither here or there - and while most speculated it was merely a front to keep people from seeing through the thin veil of brotherhood they wore, the fact was, they both liked women in their bed from time to time.

They had a pretty sweet deal - they fucked whomever they liked, but they only slept in one bed - their own. Dean had made the mistake of passing out at a tavern wench's house one night, and it was a mistake he would never make again. He'd stumbled onto the ship the next morning, still hung over but wary and prepared. He knew he'd fucked up; he just didn't know how Sam was going to take it after a night alone.

As he staggered onto deck, the first thing he saw was Kevin, staring at him in reproach as he ran around the ship measuring so he could fix all the splintered places Sam had left behind him when the night got deeper and Dean still hadn't come back from shore. Dean had opened his mouth to explain, but Kevin had merely shoved his list of needed items into Dean's hand and pointed to the galley. Steeling himself, Dean headed for Sam.

When all was said and done, Kevin had roughly doubled his original list and Sam was calm if barely speaking to Dean. The only thing that saved Dean was the fact that being too drunk to come home also meant he was too drunk to fuck the wench that, according to Dean, caused all the trouble to begin with. When Dean was stitching up the gashes in his arm from Sam's dagger, Sam unbent enough to help him stitch a particularly difficult to reach one on the back of Dean's arm.

"You know there is only one bed I will ever want to sleep in", Dean whispered. Sam brutally finished the last stitch and tied it off quickly and painfully. Dean grunted but didn't say another word. Sam turned and walked away.

A year or so later, when Sam was the one doing the walk of shame in the morning light, Dean left the ship fully intact. Sam's clothes, on the other hand, were an entirely different matter.

 

_**Eli Boggs was real and particularly vicious and cruel. He was from the states and worked outside of Hong Kong, so I suspect he was probably to blame for the Tran's misfortunes as well. Though he languished in prison in real life, for my purposes, it was rather satisfying to have to John murder him instead._

**Chapter 2**

It was summer and the Idgit was sailing through the Caribbean. Sam and Dean had had a good few months. They were settled in for a semi-relaxing cruise through crystal waters when they came upon a not so unusual sight - a ship burning in the distance. Sam glanced over at Dean, who merely nodded then went back to relaxing in the sunshine.

"Alright boys, possible prize off the port bow, powder monkeys make ready! Let's check it out, gentlemen!"

Everyone knew their place and never had to be told that place more than once. The men scrambled to their spots and kept an eye on the burning mass getting closer and closer.

Dean reluctantly opened one eye when his sun was blocked by a looming shadow. "Cap'n, I recognize that ship, or what's left of it. She's one of us. Charlie's Revenge."

Dean and Sam immediately hoisted themselves upright. Charlie's Revenge was helmed by one of the few women pirates to sail the vicious seas, and, by all accounts, one of the most successful pirates that ever lived. Rumors flew as to what revenge she had to exact, and if she'd ever gotten that revenge or not. No matter her successes or failures, she was one of the most talked about persons in the pirating world.

The ship was unusually quiet as they came closer to the wreckage. It was different when it was one of your own. Don't get me wrong, pirates weren't known for their stellar sense of right and wrong, and it was well known their moral code was often short – if they had one at all. But even the most hardened pirate had a secret (or not so secret) soft spot for at least some of their brothers on the sea.

They anchored near the smoldering carcass of Charlie's Revenge, the unmistakeable beauty of her oak hull marred and burnt black.

"Steady. Look for survivors." No one was hopeful. In the strained silence, they heard it – coughing nearly buried in the slap of waves against the shattered ship and their own hull.

Suddenly, the crew of the Idgit burst into action. Within the next hour, they had combed through the wreckage and come up heavy a couple chests, a grudgingly thankful pirate captain and two bedraggled crew members.

Sam acted as makeshift doctor when needed and looked over the Revenge's crew. As he was evaluating Charlie's condition, he was surprised to find, not a curved and shapely calf, but a splintered, singed bit of wood where the bottom of her left leg should be. Charlie looked at him defiantly – aware of the gossip about her and her leg, well the lack of it. Without a word, Sam removed the ruined prosthetic and heaved it overboard.

Later, when Charlie was resting, Sam and Dean watched as Kevin moved silently up to Charlie and took some surreptitious measurements. In the morning when the boys stumbled above decks, Charlie was holding a brand new peg leg in her hands, staring at it in wonder. Kevin nodded as they passed, then scurried away to tend to business below decks.

"Who..." Charlie started.

"Dunno," Dean replied, grinning.

Charlie and Dean hit it off immediately, especially when, right after the rescue and aided by large quantities of rum, Charlie and Dean found out they share the same proclivities - and weaknesses - for buxom blonde barmaids. They were thick as thieves from that moment on (see what I did there?) and Sam looked on the pair of them with the same kind of resigned fondness he'd previously reserved for Dean alone.

And so the Idgit soldiered on - one peg-legged woman captain and two crew members heavier. It was far from smooth sailing, that's for sure. Charlie too used to being at the helm and Dean too stubborn to let her help. But things settled like they're wont to do, and the sea and treasure were calling. The Idgit went on its way.

November of that year, everything would change. The Idgit did what it did best - destroy other ships and take on their cargo. This particular ship, though, would throw Dean and Sam's life into a tizzy - for more than one reason.

Sam and Dean were celebrating. They'd gotten quite a haul this time - personal treasures from the obviously rich passengers alone were worth more than a lot of the total prizes they won from previous skirmishes.

They were half drunk and wholly satisfied - opening crates of goods and sharing their bounty with their mates and crew. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam thought he saw one of the crates move, just a little, all on its own. Scoffing, he swallowed some more rum and shouted along with the rest of the crew as the next crate was opened.

The next time that crate moved, however, it was enough to catch Dean's attention as well. "And what do we have here?" Pulling their pistols, Sam and Dean hushed the crew's celebration and approached the crate. Peering closer, Sam jumped back when he met bright blue eyes peering from between the slats of the crate.

"Um, hello, gentlemen. Um, perhaps I could introduce myself?" Slowly, the lid of the crate scraped back and the man inside popped up - only to be met with Dean and Sam's guns pointed squarely at his face. "Oh, my. Gentlemen, I assure you, I mean no harm. I - Well, I was quite scared when you boarded our ship. I'm a very nervous fellow, don't you know. Ask anyone aboard ship, they'll tell yo..." The man's nervous chattered trailed off as he got a good look around. "Oh, dear. This doesn't look like my ship. Doesn't look like it at all. I hazard to guess you won't be asking anyone about my disposition will you? Are they alive? Am I going to remain alive?" Barely pausing for a breath, the man continued to chatter.

"I knew this trip was going to go badly. I knew it. Any ship that is that untidy and in such poor shape is simply going to call out to ruffians. Not," he paused, "that you are ruffians, gentlemen, of course not. I'm quite sure you are simply lovely people. In fact, I do have to say I'm rather excited to meet real life," and here he whispered, as if afraid to say the word too loudly, "pirates!"

"Oh dear, where are my manners? I'm just rambling on and on and haven't even afforded you the courtesy of an introduction." Nervous laughter as he looked into Dean and Sam's resigned faces and then he reached out as if to shake Dean's hand. "I'm Cas. Castiel, actually, well, technically, Castiel, Duke of Edinburgh, or, more technically, Castiel, Duke of Gloucester and Edinburgh. But, really, you may, of course, call me Cas. Oh, dear, I do prattle on. Rather like a woman in that way, I am." Charlie, jarred somewhat out of her stupor by that slight toward womanhood, reached for her rapier, only to be held back by an admittedly perplexed Sam.

"Please, please," Cas, _the Duke of Gloucester and Edinburgh of course_ , continued, "it is an honor to make your acquaintances, gentlemen. And you are?"

In the following and most blessed moment of silence, Dean grunted then swiftly took the man's hand with one of his own while bringing the butt of his gun firmly down on his temple. The smile faded from Cas's face and there was a second of puzzlement before he slumped to the ground. "Jesus Christ, Sammy, he talks more than you do."

They gathered around him, taking in his fine clothes and jewelry. "What are we going to do with him, Dean?"

"Throw him in the brig for now. I'm too drunk for this right now."

"Y'all heard him," Sam commanded. "Throw His Highness here in the cage."

Dean stumbled out of bed the next morning with a greater than usual feeling of success after the amazing pile of treasure they had liberated yesterday – and a huge headache. They'd liberated quite a lot of grog from the rich ship, as well. Then drank it.

Grabbing a couple somewhat fresh biscuits, a bit of salted beef and, after some thought, a bit of hardtack from the galley, Dean made his way out on deck and began his daily routine of checking the ship from prow to aft. He had eaten his food and slipped his hardtack into his pocket for later, and the food and salt air seemed to be helping lighten his hangover. The rigging was starting to fray in spots and it was past time for a little careening, so Dean quickly finished his inspection of the back of the ship.

Later, he'd blame the hangover for the fact it took him several minutes to notice that strange sound he heard as he went about his business was not just an annoying crew member, but the slightly bewildered but still incessant chatter of one Castiel, Duke of Gloucester and Edinburgh. In fact, Dean was halfway back to the cabin to get Sam out of bed before it dawned on him he'd just walked past their prisoner standing on deck distracting his crew instead of rotting in the brig where they'd put him. And where he'd expected to find him when he interrogated him this morning. Well, whenever he'd actually sobered up enough to remember Cas was even here and needed interrogating, that is.

Continuing to the cabin, Dean woke Sam like he always did, with a hearty "Up and at 'em, Sammy!" and a hard swat to the ass. As always, Sam woke up with his hair all over the place and bitchface #2 firmly in place. "Fuck you, Dean."

"I'd love to, Sammy boy, but we have a little issue to work out first."

"What now?"

"Remember the Duke? I'm pretty sure we ordered him to the brig last night, yet here it is morning and he's on deck bothering my crew. Any ideas on that?"

"Wow, how drunk were we last night? We don't even have doors on the brig anymore. Remember that merchant back in Tortuga that tried to cheat you out of gold? We took one of the doors and lashed him to it and left him staked up in the middle of the street heading out of town. Remember?"

"Fuck. That was, what, like a year ago now? Why the hell haven't we replaced it?"

"Um, cause we never have prisoners?"

"Well, we do now, Sammy. What are we supposed to do with him? Lock him up in the head?"

"Why do we need to lock him up at all? He's a Duke for crying out loud. Look at his clothes! How much of a problem could he possibly be?"

"Whatever Sammy. He's your responsibility, then. Find out what his story is – where he was headed and what for. I don't want any more trouble than normal, so make sure he's not gonna cause any. Dukes don't generally hold our kind in very high regard, you know."

"Dean..."

"Don't whine Sammy, I'm too hungover for this shit. Just handle him, would you?"

"Fine." Bitchface #4 was truly impressive, but honestly, Dean was far too hungover to be properly appreciative.

Sam slammed out of the cabin to do his daily ablutions and grab some food. Dean went back on deck and started preparing himself and his men for a little careening.

"Alright gentlemen", Dean started off sarcastically. "We're shifting course to Tres Marias. Time to do a little heaving down!" Careening was an arduous and dangerous task and one everyone hated. Tres Marias was a well-known spot for pirates because the secluded bays offered plenty of room and protection for them to "heave down" or partially capsize their ships for cleaning and repair. Not only were ships in this state vulnerable to attack, they could easily be lost if it wasn't done properly.

It had been a couple years since the last time they inspected and cleaned the Idgit and it was high time they made the trip. This didn't stop them from groaning and grumbling under their breaths at the hardship heading their way. Dean's raised eyebrow and challenging look shut them up pretty quickly. Heading to the helm to shift course, Dean bellowed, "Where's my quartermaster?"

"He's talking to the prisoner Cap'n."

Dammit. Dean had forgotten all about their newest "guest". Again. If he'd know how much of a nuisance he was gonna be, he'd have shot him on sight. In truth, Dean had no idea just how much that nuisance was going to change all of their lives.

 

 

**Chapter 3**

 

A week and a half later, they were in Tres Marias ready to start the very important maintenance to the Idgit. There were very few new members on the ship so everyone knew just what to do and how to do it. The crew split into three groups – those that kept watch over the particular inlet they were in and were always on the lookout for trouble, those that would take care of the cleaning and any repair of the beleaguered hull of the Idgit, and those that would stockpile food and any other sundries or parts they might need for the next few months at sea.

Dean had awoken Sam in his usual manner and yelled at him to get a move on right in the middle of bitchface #6. He couldn't wait to hit the warm beautiful Caribbean water. As he was ready to plummet off the ship into the glassy water, he felt a hand clap him on the back and flailed, nearly slipping off the rail. Pulling a knife he had stashed on his person at all times, he whipped around, ready to take down the person that dared to almost make him fall.

Cas. He should have known. Begrudgingly, he'd grown to tolerate and maybe even like Cas. Sure, there had been awkward moments, like when a drunk Cas had declared Dean "the most beautiful creature" he'd ever seen, or when, after another night full of rum and fun, Sam swore Cas had tried to kiss Dean. Dean merely laughed and chalked it up to Cas passing out nearly in Dean's lap.

Cas had been on his way to his beloved's winter estate in the islands when he'd been waylaid by the Winchesters. Far from being overly upset about it, Cas had confided in his most unwilling confidants about how his beloved was both frigid and uncompromising and how he was not looking forward to sex with her. The only moment of sadness, in fact, came when he was discussing how much he missed the peasant gal and her brother that took very good care of him whenever he felt the need.

Sam and Dean had exchanged glances and headshakes behind Cas's back, and Sam had mouthed "royalty" and rolled his eyes. Dean choked on his grog at the very thought of a pirate judging one of society's elite. Sam sent a dimpled smile at him, and Dean promptly shuffled them off to their cabin. Sam narrowed his eyes when he noticed the seemingly longing look Cas threw after them, positive it wasn't directed at him in the least.

Slowly, Cas became more vocal with his besottment with Dean, and Dean remained as clueless as ever.There was no doubt Cas was an attractive man – far more attractive than most they encountered in pirate channels, anyway. He had beautiful blue eyes and coal black hair that shone almost the same hue of blue in the unrelenting Caribbean sun.

There was also no doubt that, despite his foppish clothing and ways, he was determined to be as helpful as possible and refused to let the boys leave him at any of their ports of call. Much to Sam's dismay, he was actually starting to fit in nicely and, regardless of his ridiculous title and even more ridiculous clothes, would do many daily tasks far, far beneath him.

Sam had taken to being much more demonstrative toward Dean – more touching, more stories about their past dalliances and conquests, and more marking his territory in ways that had the crew hiding laughter and left Dean mostly bewildered but happy. Cas acknowledged the way things were but was no less flirty with Dean than he ever was, a fact that drove Sam to distraction.

"You could have killed me by knocking me off the ship, you know," he said mildly.

Cas peered over the edge of the hull. "Oh dear. Sorry about that." Taking in Dean's roughly cut off breeches and bare feet, he asked: "Are you going swimming?"

"I was."

"Wonderful. I happen to have a marvelous swimming suit. I'll be right back."

Shaking his head, Dean threw himself gracefully overboard – before Cas caused another almost accident.

A few minutes later, he was aimlessly floating when a huge splash beside him nearly swamped him. He shot to the surface, sputtering, only to find Cas right in his face. Dean jerked back and put some much-needed distance between them.

"Are you alright? I seem to have done it again. I am so sorry. I generally sun myself on the shore, not go diving. I do apologize." Somewhat awkwardly slapping Dean on the back, Cas said again, "I am sorry. I'm not sure what the protocol for something like this is. Do I just shout next time so you know I'm on my way?"

Next time. Lord save them all. "Gangway", Dean croaked. "Yell gangway."

"Ah, yes. I have heard that in busy ports and in the market. Brilliant! I'm really quite enjoying learning the common language. Not," he paused for a moment, "that you are the least bit common. Far from it, really."

There was a strange softness to his voice and, in that moment, Dean got what Sam was always going on about. "Cas..." he started but was interrupted by a huge splash right between Cas and himself.

Sam had thrown on his cut off breeches and was padding out of the galley with a biscuit or two when he saw Cas jump overboard. Practically snarling, he thought for a moment about going right back to bed and letting Dean and his adoring sycophant have all the fun they wanted. He fumed for a moment, before turning back to the cabin. Then he stopped, determined that no, Cas did not need time alone with Dean, especially in the warm, sensuous water of the Caribbean. When he reached the hull and looked over, Cas seemed to be much too close to Dean. Without another thought and no warning, Sam vaulted over the edge.

Swamped again, and having barely recovered from the first almost drowning, Dean coughed and tried desperately to catch his breath. "Dammit Sam. What is wrong with you?" Watching Sam slick back his hair and look triumphantly at a flailing and choking Cas, he said, "Ah. Sam. Look at me Sam."

Tearing his eyes away from the now coughing Cas, Sam looked challengingly at Dean.

Dean shook his head, "No one's ever taking me away Sam. Not even royalty."

Sam started to look a little sheepish and a tiny bit ashamed. Swimming over, he helped support Cas as he finally calmed down.

"Oh, my. Thank you, Sam. My goodness that salt water is rough going down isn't it?" So Sam made his peace with Cas and Cas stopped looking at Sam like he was afraid Sam was going to kill him at any moment. In fact, Cas may have started to flirt with Sam a little bit, as well. Dean just smiled and went back to swimming.

Dean and Sam planned out about a week for their stay in Tres Marias, figuring that was plenty of time for the cleaning and repairs they'd need to do on the Idgit. That also cut down on the number of people who might hear they were in port and decide to settle a score or two. Women and ships were two of the most contentious things in this world and the Winchesters had conquered pretty much all of them they'd come across.

That left not only broken hearts and broken ships spread across the map but a lot of hard feelings, too. A week wasn't time but for the closest ships to port to have time to redirect and come a calling. The boys liked it that way. Kept the number of potential skirmishes down to a minimum.

They had been in port for three days when Cas came back from the city with some disturbing news.

"Cain? I've never heard of him."

"From what I hear," Cas nearly whispered, "he's a horrible, dastardly man. He's been charged with stopping piracy in this part of the world. There are whispers he's the one that did that to Charlie's Revenge."

"What?" Dean scoffed. People had been trying to stop piracy as long as piracy had existed. He wasn't the least bit worried. When he said as much, Sam had cast him a worried look.

"Dean, we should pay attention to this. This sounds serious."

"Bah," Dean replied. "He'll never catch us."

“Dean...”

“Forget it, Sam. It's not a problem.”

Sam subsided but was determined to find out more. As they headed to the tavern later that night for their usual drinking and roughousing, Sam pulled Cas aside. “Tell me everything you heard.”

Cas related the stories he'd heard and, once they got to the tavern, Sam hit up everyone he knew even in passing for their own tales of this Cain. Cain was, depending on who was telling the story, either a highly trained militia man or someone that had been involved with some very strong magic. Pirates were many things and superstitious was definitely one of them. There wasn't a pirate on the sea that didn't believe in the power of voodoo and other dark magic.

They were more likely to be frightened of a slip of a thing with hate in her eye and a curse on her tongue than they were to be scared of a veritable armada of militia ships. They all had their rituals and counter spells they used to cast off any bad juju that might come their way. The more Sam heard about Cain, the more he wondered if the stories might be the tiniest bit right.

“Dean,” Sam tried again. “You don't know what I just heard about this man, Dean.” Dean ignored him and walked on. “Stop!” Sam yelled, grabbing Dean by the arm. “We can't afford not to pay attention to this Dean! He's already taken down at least ten ships, Dean. TEN ships! And he's just getting started!”

Dean jerked away from Sam but refused to answer him. “Goddamit Dean!” Sam bellowed then ran after Dean, knocking him off the path. “Listen to me!”

Dean steadied himself then turned and punched Sam in the mouth. “Get off me Sam. I mean it. Let this fucking go!” Sam wiped the blood off his mouth and headed back to the tavern, leaving Dean and the rest of the crew to head back to the half capsized ship and their makeshift camp.

Sam didn't come back that night, or the next day. When dusk began to darken the edges of daylight on the next night and there had been no word from Sam, Dean flew into a rage. Storming into the tavern, he questioned anyone that had been there the night before. Sam had never made it back to the tavern.

“Goddammit Sam,” Dean whispered. “Why couldn't you have just let it go?”

Turns out, Dean wasn't really ignoring the stories about Cain. Far from it. He knew exactly what danger they were in. Had known since they'd left Tortuga. He also knew some things Sam and Cas didn't. Like the fact that Cain would be on their particular ass even more than he was other pirates.

Cain was, regardless of whispers to the contrary, a normal human man. He was trained and vicious, but only a man. The rape and murder of his mother at the hands of a pirate had set him on a course much like that of John Winchester – one of retribution and vengance. Only, instead of stopping with the death of the pirate directly responsible for the death of his mother, Cain made it his life's work to destroy every pirate that crossed his path.

One of those pirates had barely escaped with his life and lost most of his crew and his ship. Sir Francis Drake***, a second son of British royalty, was largely free to do as he pleased and unfettered from most of the rigorous trials royalty imposed on his older brother. Taking off with his cousin when he was in his early 20s, Sir Francis Drake was known as one of the most bloodthirsty and vicious pirates, and his ties to the Queen and royalty only added to people's distaste of him. Those ties, though, meant he was privy to information other pirates were not.

He knew all about Cain, and not from the whispers of wary pirates, but from the very militia that had trained him and set him on his current course. Dean has asked Sir Francis to find out about Cas and see what the repercussions were of Cas refusing to go back home just yet. Last week, he got his answer, and it was not a good one.

Cas' frigid and uncompromising bride to be had waited for Cas diligently, if not excitedly. For her, like for most ladies of means, a marriage to Cas would supply her with her most important needs – wealth, position, and status. Once she had her sights on that particular prize, she wasn't about to let it go, pirates and shipwrecks be damned.

Once it became clear Cas was not just temporarily waylaid, his intended wrangled an audience with the Queen and started into motion a most unfortunate campaign to return her “great love” to her adoring side. Cain, already vicious and angry, was only made moreso when the Queen practically ordrered him to find Cas.

Clearly not interested in something he considered a lost cause, he declined, only to be given no choice in the matter, even after he posited that if Cas' ship had indeed fallen to pirates, there was likely no chance Cas was actually still alive. The Queen had merely flicked her fingers in his direction and ordered him to bring said pirate's head back to court then. Cain bowed, seething, and set out for the Caribbean.

Dean had no idea he'd have made the voyage so quickly. If he had, he'd have chained Sam to his side, most definitely not let him run off in the dark alone. Whatever happened to Sam was Dean's fault and Dean's fault alone.

“So tell me, Sam. Does it usually take your brother this long to find you? I left quite a few markers to make sure he could find the way. Not sure why he isn't here yet. Hmm. Maybe he's not coming.”

Sam gritted his teeth and refused to rise to the bait though he did have to admit he wondered what was taking Dean so long to get to him. If he was off getting drunk and being all broody waiting on Sam to come back, Sam was going to kill him.

Cain and two of his men had ambushed Sam in the dark and had him trussed up and knocked out before he could do more than strike out once. It gave him some satisfaction to see the black eye he'd given Cain's quartermaster, but he could have done without the daily beatings and floggings because of it.

Cain had kept him in irons on the deck waiting for Dean to come find him, but at night, he moved Sam to the bilge. There was a greater chance, he explained, of Dean trying to be sneaky and attacking at night. He wasn't about to lose Sam or any of his leverage. The bilge was the deepest darkest part of the ship, and the most disgusting. It would be one of the last places Dean would look for Sam, and, frankly, was a good punishment to keep Sam disoriented and weak. Sam hardly had a weak stomach but the stench of the bilgewater had him heaving almost every time he was brought back down from the fresh sea air.

He was going on four days as Cain's prisoner and was steadily losing hope of ever seeing Dean again. One of the worst parts of Sam's captivity was how much Cain loved to talk. What he'd do to Sam. What he'd do to Dean. What he'd do to the ship and the rest of the crew. All he did was talk. It was torture, and he began to hope Dean wouldn't come for him after all, if just to spare him the horrible death Cain shared in such detail.

He was starting to get emaciated and weak, from the filth of the bilge, the daily beatings, the floggings, the scarcity of food he was offered, the lack of sleep the nasty conditions in the bilge afforded him, and from the mental wear of Cain constantly taunting him with the story of his impending death. He was starting to break down. That was never more evident than when he could have sworn he saw Eddie and Cookie, two of the deckhands on his own ship.

Disheartened, Sam slumped and tried to get a little rest in the fresh air before the beatings started again.

 

That night, “Eddie” and “Cookie” slipped money to a few members of the crew and lead Sam down to the bilge. He started to struggle, sure that they had just paid to have a few minutes alone to torture him - or something even more heinous.

“Shhh, stop it Sam. It's Cookie. You get us caught and I'll kill you myself!” Sam couldn't believe his ears.

“Cookie?”

“Now listen, Sam. Dean's waiting for us to get you out. As soon as you're clear, he's attacking...”

“What, no, you have no idea how this man is; what he can do. He can't...When you get me out we just need to go!”

Eddie looked pityingly at Sam. “You know that would never happen Sam. He hurt you. Dean will die before he lets that go.”

“I'll stop him,” Sam declared. “What's the plan?”

Turned out it was fairly simple. Eddie and Cookie had paid off a good portion of the crew. Pirates were, after all, generally in this life for what they could get out of it. Most of them hated Cain anyway, and the sum of gold Eddie and Cookie were offering was plenty to get them to sell Cain out.

They simply took Sam to the bilge like always, waited until Cain had checked to make sure Sam was secured and properly cowed, and then walked him right off the ship – well, carried him mostly, as Sam was dangerously weak. They laid him in a wagon that was ready and waiting a bit down the road. Sam struggled and protested, demanding to see Dean. A quick blow to the head silenced him quickly.

“Sorry Sam. Dean wants you safe.” Nodding at the crew guiding the wagon, Eddie and Cookie took off to meet Dean. He was going to need all the help he could get.

 

_***I have taken MAJOR liberties with Sir Francis Drake as he was the only member of royalty I remembered being a pirate, and I needed that for the story. He actually lived in the late 1500s, about three hundred years earlier than this story. He was involved heavily in the slave trade at first, and no one was quite sure where his port really was though it was most likely in the New England/Canadian territories area. He did make runs around the tip of South America, so he could have been in the right area at least sometimes. Whether he was even a pirate also depends on who you speak to. To many from England, he was a hero, an explorer, and a patriot. To most others, he was a bloodthirsty pirate and was largely hated by those he conquered._

**Chapter 4**

 

Sam came to suddenly and began yelling for Dean. Cas, his face a mass of bruising and cuts and his arm in a sling, quickly silenced him. “Cain has him.”

Sam raged, dragging his weak and damaged body off the bed and scrounging for his clothing. Barking rapid fire questions at Cas, who didn't even attempt to stop him, he demanded to know what had happened.

 

With the Idgit still heaved down, there was little choice but for a raiding party to head out to ground. It would have taken longer to get the ship seaworthy than it did for them to travel by foot, so they gathered as many weapons as they could and set out, Dean not saying a word the entire time that wasn't strictly necessary.

When they'd been given the all clear, the men sneaked on board the ship that night, finding it surprisingly simple. The crew that had been so easily paid off must have jumped ship just as easily. The remaining crew fought valiantly but ultimately fell. Cain was nowhere to be found.

“Burn the ship,” Dean commanded. “If he's on it, he's dead.”

The crew set the ship ablaze and stood to watch to see if Cain would attempt to jump from the flames. There was no sign of him. Cussing, Dean ordered the men back to where they'd taken Sam. As they walked, Dean again turned silent and stony. Dean was so quiet, in fact, it took them hours to notice he wasn't with them.

“Goddamit Dean,” Cas whispered, echoing one of Sam's most used phrases. “Sam's going to kill us all.”

Two members of the crew had been sent to scout for Dean. One had lived, and returned to pinpoint his exact location. Cain had erected a temporary camp in the jungle, no doubt purposefully waiting to catch the remaining crew and Cas.

Cain had placed Dean in stocks, and from what they'd seen, left him there, making it nearly impossible for him to sleep or do much else. They hadn't seen Cain feed him when they were there, and Dean's pained grimace with every breath he made left little doubt to his physical well-being. Cain did give him water though they were pretty sure it was just to keep him alive for a little bit longer.

Sam listened to this silently, his face stone hard and implacable. “Let's go.”

Cas shook his head and raised his eyes to heaven. “We're gonna need you Your Most High Holiness,” Cas whispered. “Just keep an eye out please.”

“Dean, Dean, Dean. You and your brother have been most egregious splinters in my side. Really, I give you your due attribution, though. You have been most worthy competitors. Too bad I always win.”

Dean gritted his teeth and didn't respond. Sam was out and safe and that was all that mattered. Hopefully, his death would be relatively quick and Cain would be gone long before Sam was recovered enough to even attempt to exact revenge.

“Oh, Dean. I almost forgot. How silly of me.” Cain laughed like they were having some casual discussion at tea. “I had this all ready for your brother, but unfortunately, you decided to liberate him before I could mark him as the scum he is.” Dean glared at Cain but didn't say a word.

Cain was an imposing man, and it was clear he was used to getting his way. His salt and pepper hair, full beard and permanent scowl had undoubtedly cowed many a man and wooed many to Cain's bed. Only a hair shorter than Dean and nearly as broad, it was obvious Cain was used to commanding every room.

Dean was not impressed.

Cain brandished something long and metal, twirling it around like a rapier before presenting it to Dean, as if for his approval or inspection. It was a branding iron fashioned in the shape of the letter P. “I won't make that mistake again,” Cain said, leaning over so he could whisper right in Dean's ear.

“You're a monster, Dean. You and your “brother”. Killers, fornicators, liars, thieves,” here Cain paused, “sodomites. No one believes you're really brothers you know. They see how you look at each other.

You can imagine my surprise when I saw the Duke was alive and apparently well. At first, I wondered why on earth the Duke would choose to associate with a bunch of lowlife pirates, but I must say, you are pretty aren't you?” Cain leaned back enough to stroke the spot on Dean's jaw that was flexing as he ground his teeth.

“Nothing to say, Dean? So stoic. Let's see what you have to say when you've got this iron pressed against that pretty skin, shall we?” Cain laughed as he straightened and strode to the fire and buried the end of the iron in the flames. “So, you may be wondering why I'm even bothering with the iron when I'm just going to kill you, right?” He paused as if he expected Dean to answer.

After a moment, he continued. “I'm not here by choice. I'm sure you're probably aware of this, as I know you've had continued interactions with that bilge rat, Drake. I almost had him, by the way. I'll get him next time. That poor excuse for royalty won't escape me again. Anyway, I digress. Castiel's poor fiancee was nearly in hysterics at the thought of losing him.” Dean couldn't help but snort at this. “Whined her way into an audience with the Queen and next thing you know, here I am wasting my time on a fop hunt. I must return with either Cas or the head of the pirate that killed. him. Looks like I'll be bringing back both your heads and the wayward Duke. I'll be a hero for finding him alive.”

Jerking Dean's head back almost against the stocks by the hair, he continued. “But you've already polluted him haven't you? Did you touch him with your filthy blood stained hands? Did he like it, or did you have to force him? Tell me Dean. Who had him first? You or your abomination of a "brother"?”

Dean couldn't help it. He snarled and spit in Cain's face. Cain just laughed and wiped his face with his sleeve. “There we go. I knew I'd break that legendary shell. Let's see how that iron is coming along, shall we?”

“Ah, yes,” Cain commented as he slipped on a pair of heavy gloves and pulled the iron from the fire. The end glowed cherry red. “Looks like it's done to me.” Dean didn't so much as twitch. “Tell me, Dean. Do you feel I've been unfair?” Dean barked out a bitter laugh but refused to answer. “I didn't think so either,” Cain nodded as if this was in anyway a real conversation. “So now the important part. Where should I place this Dean? Any preferences? Ah, never mind,” Cain laughed. “I know the perfect spot. Right here on your pretty, pretty face. What do you think about that, Dean?”

Dean remained silent, closed his eyes and waited for the pain.

Sam and the crew were nearing the makeshift camp when they heard an anguished scream followed by cursing and laughter. Sam took off running, despite his physical issues and Cas trying to stop him.

“That man is so stubborn.” Cas shook his head in a kind of fond annoyance.

“They both are, yer Highness,” Eddie replied.

“I've asked you to call me Cas, Eddie.”

“That you have, yer Highness.” Shaking his head, Cas wondered, not for the first time, exactly what Fate had brought him here. In the next moment, he took the time to thank them, whoever they were.

Sam ran as fast as he could until he came close enough to the camp to hear Cain murmuring and smell the lingering traces of burnt flesh in the air. Double checking his weapons, he pinpointed the rest of the crew. They had fanned out around the perimeter of the camp, enough distance that hopefully Cain remained unaware but they could keep track of what was going on. Sam indicated he was going in, and took off, despite Cas's frenzied gesticulations for him not to.

Sam didn't bother to be quiet, just strode right into the center of camp, quickly taking in Dean, head down, locked in irons and the stocks, face blistered and bruised. Snarling, he waited for Cain to acknowledge him.

“Why, Sam, how lovely of you to visit! I told my men to be sure to let you in. So good to see you!”

“What?” Dean jerked his head up as quickly as he could. “No! Sam? What the fuck? Goddammit, Sam!”

Cain burst out laughing. “Surely you didn't think he'd stay away did you, Dean? No way Sam would let “big brother” stay in harm's way very long. Would you, Sammy?” Cain sneered. “So, where's the rest of the crew? I know they're not smart enough to stay away. Ah, no worries, my men will find them,” Cain nonchalantly waved his hand. A moment later, there was the sound of yelling and fighting. Cain grinned. “Looks like they found them!”

Sam watched as Cain started moving toward Dean. He couldn't allow that. Pulling his weapon, he moved to intercept Cain before he could reach his brother but was a moment too late. Cain scooped something off the ground near his feet and raised his own weapon. “Careful Sam. Wouldn't want Dean to get wounded by a ricochet, now would we?”

Sam was aware of Dean struggling but remained focused on Cain. Lightning fast, Cain stretched out a hand and jerked Dean's head to the side. “Tell me, Sam. How do you like Dean's new look? How about a matching one? What do you say?”

Sam's only response was to steady his weapon and point it at Cain. “I can see you shaking Sam. Haven't quite recovered from what I did to you have you? All I have to do is wait you out. Then you and your “brother” are all mine. I must say it won't be quite the thrill I'd hoped, what with you being so weak, and from the looks of it, soon to be unconscious, but alas everyone has their crosses to bear. I suppose the wholly unsatisfactory nature of your deaths will be mine.”

Sam started to waver and, for a moment, had to steady his pistol with both hands. His eyesight blurred momentarily, and he shook his head a little to try to clear it up. “Wearing down so soon, Sam?” Cain crooned. “Really, I thought you had more fortitude than that.” Sam could hear Dean screaming something at him in the background but it was muffled and Sam felt like he was in a thick fog. All he could hear was the frantic murmuring of Dean's deep voice and Cain's lecherous laughter.

Struggling, he stabilized, determined not to lose himself or Dean to his brutish man. Cain continued to mock the boys, his base enjoyment of their suffering infuriating Sam even more. Cain ceased his laughing, but only so he could begin singing. “One of my favorite shanties, boys. Follow along if you know the words.”

 _They call me hanging Johnnie, Hooray, Hooray!_  
_They call me hanging Johnnie, Hang, boys, hang._  
_They say I hang for money, Hooray, Hooray!_  
_But saying so is funny; Hang, boys, hang._  
_I'd hang the highway robber, Hooray, Hooray!_  
_I'd hang the burglar jobber; Hang, boys, ha--_

A shot rang out, and Cain's singing came to an abrupt halt, his eyes widening in surprise as he looked in horror at the blood soaking his waistcoat. “What...” he managed to croak before Sam shot him in the face. As he fell, Sam noticed Cas had been standing behind Cain a smoking pistol in his one good hand. Crouching down beside Cain, Cas absently poked at the hole in Cain's vest. “You talk too damn much, sir,” he told the slowly dying Cain, watching as he finally stilled.

“Well, that was capital! I've never killed anyone before! Oh I'm a crack shot, don't you know, best hunter in my dukedom. But it's nothing like this. Nothing at all,” Cas cackled but trailed off when he noticed Sam slump to the ground.

“Goddammit Cas, get me out of here,” Dean yelled. “Cain wasn't the only one that talks too much.”

Sheepishly, Cas ran to free Dean while the rest of the fight raged outside the camp.

They staggered back to the tavern all alive but some just barely. Eddie and Charlie clung to life seemingly entirely by sheer will and stubbornness and Sam and Dean managed to walk at least part of the way but very very slowly. Like they had done their entire life, they leaned on each other when their pain tried to slow them down. Even with the wagon to carry the most wounded, it was slow going.

As they neared the tavern, they could see people whispering. Pirates loved a good story and it didn't necessarily need to be true to be enjoyed. Sam shook his head thinking about how many different ways their tale would be told by morning.

“We're gonna be legends, Sammy boy. Legends!”

Sam merely shook his head and listened to Dean ramble on about how they were going to be even more infamous than they already were. How Dean could talk with the blistered brand on his face, Sam had no idea, but he welcomed the sound of it. It meant they were alive and well - well, alive anyway, and the sound of Dean's usual bragging was like music to his ears.

“Give me some rum boys!” Dean crowed. “I fought the devil and won!”

“Well, technically, you may have fought the devil but I actually killed him, you know,” Cas spoke up drily. “Indeed it was I who pulled you from the stocks.”

Sam smothered a laugh as Dean slowly pivoted to face Cas. “Don't you have a loving fiancee to run back to?”

Cas started laughing, then sobered. “Actually, I do think that's something I need to handle. Alas, I cannot hide in this utopia forever. I do have duties.”

Sam reached out to Cas and patted him on the back. “After we're all healed, we'll give you as fine a send off as any Captain.”

“And you are always welcome aboard our ship, Cas,” Dean added. “But right now, I think I need to rest.”

“I think we all do. Let's lie down before we fall down right here. I think the barkeep would be particularly unhappy if people had to step over us to get their watered down rum.”

Laughing, they went upstairs as the tavern owner pelted them with days old bread.

 

“Dean, I...”

“Shhh, quiet Sammy, I'm trying to get to sleep,” Dean cut Sam off but helped him take off his shoes and climb in bed. Carefully removing his own, he followed, fiercely encircling Sam with his arms. “Never letting you go, Sammy. Not ever.”

“Dean...”

“Shh...sleep baby brother. Sleep.”

 

**Epilogue**

“I believe you asked for this, my Queen?” Cas asked as a porter handed the Queen a gaily beribboned box. “Oh, don't let it near that lovely gown, Your Grace, I fear it is most distasteful and would soil such a beautiful fabric beyond repair.”

“Indeed,” intoned the Queen, quickly handing the box back off to the porter. “How very kind of you to visit the Court, Duke, and to bring,” she quirked a brow and flicked her fingers at the box, “gifts. Your poor dear fiancee will be beside herself with joy when she sees you have returned safe and well. Tell me, where is that vile pirate hunter, what's his name? Cord, Cary, no, no, Cain!” The Queen snapped her fingers upon remembering. “That's it. Cain. Where is he, and is that the head of that dreadful pirate that abducted you?”

“Ah, well, Your Highness, that is quite the tale. If you should have time, I'd be most happy to tell it. In fact, I think you'd be most interested. You see it all started when I was coming to see my...” here Cas paused, “...charming betrothed. Oh the ship was horrendous. Truly, truly horrendous. I was afraid for the state of not only myself but my things as well just by stepping foot on the rickety thing. It was quite the nightmare, let me tell you….”

 

AN: I rather enjoyed writing this story actually, and may very well end up writing a sequel to it. I find myself with a reluctance to end the adventures of Dean, Sam, Charlie, Kevin and yes, even Cas. So, yeah, I may just bother you all with more! :D


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